Kid Sherlock
by Nothing-but-PBandJ
Summary: Snippets of Sherlock's life as a kid. Some kid!John too. May or may not have hinted (innocent) slash, depending on how you look at it.
1. Chapter 1

Blue eyes glared at the 'food' that was brought out in front of him. The foul-smelling peas and carrots entered his nostrils. His mother smiled at him. Mycroft was busy eating. His father had gone off on a business trip.

Sherlock pouted. He didn't want to eat. Especially not yucky vegetables. What were they good for? Mummy Holmes noticed that he wasn't eating.

"Sherlock, honey. Eat your dinner. Then you can have a cookie."

A cookie was not worth tormenting his taste buds. Sherlock gagged and pushed his plate aside. Mycroft stopped eating in order to give his brother a stern look.

"Sherlock. Mummy worked hard on this meal. Eat it."

"No."

His mother sighed but said nothing else. She was very lenient, something Sherlock was grateful for. But Mycroft was strict, something that he couldn't stand. Mycroft stood up.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, looking up at his older brother.

Mycroft smirked down at him.

"To call the police and tell them that you're not eating your vegetables."

Sherlock wasn't dumb. What did Mycroft take him for? Sherlock glared up at him.

"That's the dumbest lie I ever heard. You can't arrest someone for not eating vegetables."

He knew that for a fact. Sherlock was practicing every day to become a great detective. Mycroft's smirk didn't falter.

"I'm not having them arrest you. I'm telling them that you won't eat your vegetables. Then they won't let you be a detective. They only want the healthiest people fighting crime. And you can't be healthy if you don't eat your vegetables."

This time Sherlock wasn't nearly as confident. What if Mycroft was telling the truth? But that was silly. Right?

Mycroft went over to get his phone. Sherlock dug into his food and began eating. Cookies weren't worth it. But his future was. Sherlock didn't notice Mycroft and Mummy Holmes exchanging a knowing smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Mummy Holmes hummed a happy tune, dipping her hand underneath the facet to make sure that the water was exactly as Sherlock liked it. She poured in some bubble bath formula for children and added a few toys. She turned around, expecting to see Sherlock where she had left him. However, he was gone.

Just like all the other times.

She frowned and walked out of the bathroom, looking for her youngest son.

"Sherlock. Bath time. We even have toys."

Silence. She looked left and right but didn't spot him. Just as she was about to start searching the entire house, Mycroft came up to her with a struggling Sherlock in his hands.

"Let me go. Let me go!"

"There you are. My little man," Mummy Holmes cooed, "Time for your bath."

Sherlock groaned in frustration and flailed his arms. But Mycroft easily held him in place.

"I don't want a bath."

"But bath time is fun," argued his mother.

"That's right, Sherlock," Mycroft chimed in with a sneer, "Bath time _is_ fun. Plus, you really need to clean yourself up. You're all muddy from tracking people's footprints."

It was true that Sherlock was a bit dirty. But he still didn't want to take a bath. Mummy Holmes took Sherlock off Mycroft's hands. Sherlock continued to struggle.

"None of that now. Do you need a time-out?"

Sherlock stilled.

"No."

Mummy Holmes smiled down at him. She brought him to the tub and gently placed him inside.

"Then off we go. The little ducky is taking a swim. Isn't this fun, Sherlock?"

Sherlock groaned a second time. Seeing as he already lost this battle, he decided he would play with his toy boat. Mycroft left them alone.

Captain Holmes was chasing after Moriarty the Pirate. Moriarty was shooting cannonballs at his ship. Captain Holmes managed to dodge them easily.

Sherlock was so engrossed in his game that he didn't realize his mother was done cleaning him. She smiled.

"Alright. Time to get out."

Sherlock stared at her in shock.

"But I haven't beaten the pirate yet."

Mummy Holmes let out a soft giggle.

"I told you bath time was fun."


	3. Chapter 3

The footprints that were left in the sandbox looked fresh. Sherlock's favorite thing to do when his dad took him to the park was make theories about what he had seen. One time he saw a bee flying slower than a normal bee, so Sherlock figured that it was a male worker who was tired from searching for pollen. Winter had lasted too long and most of the flowers were barely in bloom.

Sherlock's dad was engrossed in the morning paper. He was only a few yards away from Sherlock. The footprints that Sherlock was looking at were from a kid about his age, he was sure of it. And this kid wore sneakers and was drinking juice. The small container was left unattended. Sherlock picked it up and sipped. Grape. Just like he thought.

"Hey! That's mine," a voice cried out.

The voice belonged to a blond haired boy a little bit shorter than Sherlock. The boy was rushing over with a pail and shovel. Sherlock frowned at him.

"You left it alone. You should know better."

The boy glared but said nothing else. Instead, he sat down on the sand and scooped up some of it. He placed the sand in the pail. Sherlock sneered.

"Your mom bought you that shirt, didn't she?"

The boy stopped short and his face flushed.

"What? What do you mean?"

"It says _Mommy's Little Boy._"

Sherlock noticed the boy looking at him in awe.

"You can read?"

"Yes," Sherlock said offhandedly.

Mycroft had insisted on reading to him ever since he was one. After a short while his older brother had taught him how to read and Sherlock had caught on very quickly.

The boy grinned.

"That's neat! You're neat!"

Sherlock had intended to embarrass the boy. He had not been expecting the compliment. The dark-haired boy gaped at him.

"Really? You really think so?"

"Yeah. My name's John. What's yours?"

Could this possibly be a potential friend? Sherlock never had one before. He would spend some time with Mycroft but Mycroft didn't count since he was his brother.

"I'm Sherlock."

He sat down next to John. The blond haired boy offered a genuine smile.

"Wanna' play on the swings?"

That actually sounded like fun, thought Sherlock. Sherlock agreed and the two went to the swings for toddlers.

Later Sherlock's dad would be astounded to find his youngest son playing with another child.


	4. Chapter 4

Special, longer chapter that I've been working on for months. Hope you like what you read. =)

* * *

To the adults, it was just a plain old, everyday box that was used for packing and transferring their useless things from one place to another. But for Sherlock and John it was jail and the pencil on the floor beside it was the key. John was fit snugly inside the box while Sherlock paced around.

"So will you tell us where they hid the bomb?" he glanced at the blond-haired boy.

John had to stand to see Sherlock because his head couldn't reach over the box when he was sitting down. Their mothers were in the kitchen, preparing for some sort of bake sale. John really wanted some cookies but they told him they were for after dinner. He hated that rule.

Sherlock stared him down with an intimidating glance. His eyes were so serious that John forgot they were just playing for a moment. Sherlock was such a good actor.

But then again maybe he wasn't really acting. Whenever they played detective, Sherlock really played the part and made sure it was just like real life. He would think of every situation and John would play along. Sherlock would come up with a crime, then he would go through every possible way the criminal might have pulled it off without getting noticed. First John was a murderer and he killed his wife with a broom. Then he was a thief stealing from the national bank. Time after time John was always the bad guy and Sherlock was the one to bring him to justice.

It was usually very fun but sometimes John wanted to play doctor. They played detective a lot more often than they played doctor though, which never seemed fair to John. They should play the games he wanted to play just as much. But he couldn't say no to Sherlock. Sherlock was his best friend. Besides, they usually played in Sherlock's house, so maybe it was fair that they played the games he wanted to.

And it wasn't nearly as bad as playing with Jim, who never wanted to play doctor. Jim always wanted to play bomb with John, where he tied the other up in a pretend bomb. It was always so scary for John. What if it really was a bomb he was strapped into one day? That wouldn't be fun at all. But Jim didn't care how scared John was. In fact, he seem to enjoy watching him squirm in the rope Jim's mother for some reason let them play with.

"Well? Are you going to tell or not?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

John rested his chin on the rim of the box, his tiny fingers grasping at the sides firmly.

"No. I don't want to."

"John," Sherlock sighed tiredly, dropping his detective voice he used when playing, "You don't just say you don't want to. That's not what grown-ups say."

"Then what should I say?"

"You got to lie. Tell me that they hid the bomb north of here, when they really hid the bomb south of here."

John frowned, "My mummy tells me to never lie."

"We're pretending," Sherlock insisted.

Well that was true. John didn't think about that.

"They hid the bomb north of here."

Sherlock, eager to get back into the game, arched an eyebrow. His neatly combed black hair was reaching past his eyes, threatening to curl up as it was so long. John kinda liked it like that.

"North of here. Is that the truth?"

John was about to say that no, it wasn't the truth when he remembered that they were still just pretending. Right. He nodded. Sherlock smiled. He usually had to remind John two to three times in a row to stay in character. John was happy to know that he was getting better.

The blond stared absent-mindedly at the plush, blue carpet. Toys were scattered all around and he knew that their mothers would have them clean their mess up before John had to go. It wasn't fair. John liked it better when he was little and his mother would pick up his toys for him.

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back, looked down at the floor and paced a few more times. Afterwards he looked back up.

"You know the consequences of lying to the police, don't you?"

"What's consequences?" John asked, tilting his head.

"It means bad things that happens to you for doing bad things. Like when you had to go to time-out for spilling your milk."

Oh. Sherlock was so smart, John thought. Some day he hoped to be as smart as the black haired boy. John shook his head.

"No. I don't know the conse- I don't know what will happen," he already forgot what the word was.

"It's an extra twenty years," explained Sherlock.

"Twenty years of what?"

"Of jail!" Sherlock was getting really impatient and stared at John like he was an idiot. John didn't like when he did that. It made him feel bad.

"Sorry. I promise I'm not lying."

"What are you two up to?" Mycroft came up from behind Sherlock, holding a newspaper.

Mycroft was much, much bigger than Sherlock and John and he was Sherlock's older brother. He took a glance at John in the box, then looked at Sherlock. The younger brother turned his head away.

"None of your business, Mycroft."

"Don't be like that. I was just asking."

"We're playing detective," John answered before Sherlock could retort.

Mycroft rolled up the newspaper and placed it on the coffee table next to him. He was making himself at home, Sherlock thought with dread. Why couldn't he just leave them alone?

"Really? And are you the bad guy, John?"

He nearly cooed when he asked that, as if the idea was cute to him. Sherlock refused to look him in the eye. He knew his brother didn't think of him as an equal and it made him so mad. He was sure he was just as smart as that big nose idiot. Mycroft shouldn't make fun of him. He was going to become a world greatest detective one day.

"Ah-huh. Sherlock wants to know where my helpers hid the bomb."

Mycroft's lips curled into a full grin. Sherlock just wanted him to go so they could go back to their game.

"Go away."

This caused Mycroft to send his brother a stern glance.

"That's not very nice. I just want to talk to you two. Civil conversation is key to maintaining friendship."

"What's civil mean? And conversation? And main-er-maintining?" John was really curious about all these new words.

Mycroft chuckled at how adorable the two were being. He knew Sherlock wanted him to leave but he just couldn't help tormenting him a little bit. Little Sherlock thought he was all grown up. Mycroft was 10 years old. Double digits. If anyone was an adult, it would be him.

"When I say a civil conversation, I mean let's all talk to each other nicely. Maintaining means keeping. It's important to talk nice so that you can keep being friends."

"Oh," John's mouth formed an open o.

Mycroft sat down on a chair that was close by.

"You two just keep on playing. Pretend I'm not here."

He wanted to watch? Fine, Sherlock wasn't opposed to that. As long as Mycroft kept his mouth shut. Sherlock turned his attention back on John. He imagined they were in the prison and that John was a big burly man behind bars.

"If you're not lying, then we'll have the police check north of here to find the bomb."

"Can I be the police?" Asked Mycroft suddenly.

"Why do you want to play?" Sherlock snapped his head into Mycroft's direction. Mycroft just smiled.

"Do I need a reason to want to play with my baby brother?"

Oh no he didn't! Sherlock's hands clutched up into fists at his sides, his nostrils threatened to flare. Mycroft was ruining his play-date with John.

Mycroft seemed amused at how angry his little brother looked. He knew a tantrum was getting close and he didn't want to miss it. Sherlock tried hard to keep his voice calm.

"I'm not a baby. I'm an adult."

The moment he said that, Mycroft cracked up laughing. Sherlock felt his eyes heating up, moisture at the ducts. But no. He would not cry. He refused to cry.

John watched the scene helplessly. Mycroft was being meaner than usual today. Sherlock's bottom lip wobbled a bit.

"I hate you!"

Mycroft gasped, his laughter ceased immediately. Sherlock ran up the steps to his room. Their mother came in from the kitchen and looked upstairs.

"He's probably just tired."

Mycroft made a movement to go up the stairs too but his mother held him back by the shoulder.

"No, let him rest for awhile. He probably just needs a nap."

x

Sherlock sniffed once before burying his head underneath a pillow in his bed shaped like a sports car. Why couldn't Mycroft give him some credit? He was three and a half years old. He was an adult and Mycroft always treated him like a child.

He heard footsteps just outside the door. Sherlock closed his eyes when he heard the door opening. Pretend to be asleep. That would keep anyone from trying to talk to him.

But John knew Sherlock better than that. He walked over to the edge of the bed and looked at his friend.

"I think you're grown up," he told Sherlock softly.

Realizing that it was his best friend and not his big nose brother, Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up. His eyes were red from un-shedded tears and a deep, deep frown was spread across his face. John didn't know what was wrong with Sherlock. He usually took Mycroft's bullying well. Or at least better than he had earlier.

Sherlock rubbed his sleepy eyes. No, he wasn't tired. He refused to believe it.

"Thank you, John."

"We can prove to Mycroft that you're grown-up."

The sudden idea sparked Sherlock's interest. He _could _prove to Mycroft that he was an adult. Then Mycroft wouldn't be able to make fun of him ever again.

"But how?" he asked more to himself than to John.

John thought for a moment, then smiled.

"Maybe we can help our mummies bake a cake. That would show him. Or we could eat our peas at dinner."

No. Those ideas were too small. Sherlock knew he had to think big in order to impress Mycroft. But how?

"Let's solve a case together. A real one."

John stared at him in shock. Sherlock had hopped out of bed and was grinning in excitement. John wasn't too excited but seeing his friend cheer up like this prevented him from protesting.

Sherlock went over to his blue desk and opened the drawer. He grabbed a magnifying glass and shut the drawer closed, turning around to look at John.

"We can do this. Let's go downstairs and watch the news."

"Why?" John didn't want to watch the news. The news was boring.

"Because that will tell us about unsolved cases," Sherlock was getting impatient again, "And then we can solve them and be heroes."

A hero. John liked the sound of that. He could be a hero and tell his mummy. Then maybe his mum will give him some ice cream for being so good. He really liked strawberry ice cream.

"Okay. Let's go."

The two toddlers rushed downstairs, happy as can be. In the living room, Sherlock turned the telly on to the news. They watched the weather report for as long as their short attention span would allow. Finally, Sherlock yawned.

"There has to be something."

John yawned as well.

"Yeah. I want to watch the telly on the couch. I don't like sitting on the floor."

"Good idea."

They made their way over to the couch. Since they were so small, they were both able to lie down on it. The news wasn't getting any better. Sherlock decided he would just rest his eyes. He closed them.

When he opened them back up, John was gone. Shocked that his friend disappeared so quickly, Sherlock sat up and looked around. The room seemed odd. It was slanted sideways and yet Sherlock didn't feel like he was losing any equilibrium. There was a pool on the ceiling and none of the water was falling down.

Sherlock hopped off the couch, which had somehow turned into a giant bug an instant later and walked away from the toddler. Sherlock went into the kitchen. But neither his nor John's mother were in there. Cake with wings were fluttering all over the room and flying forks were chasing after them. Sherlock was starting to get scared. He wanted his mummy. This place was so strange.

Suddenly a flight of stairs appeared in front of him. The stairs were marble and decorated with giant purple gemstones that sparkled like the ocean underneath the sunset. Sherlock stared at it in wonder, before making his way up. But they weren't really stairs. They were escalators and the moment he took the first step, he was riding up all the way to the top.

Sherlock entered a room with floating watches. But the hands on the watches weren't moving at all. In the center of the room was a giant desk, again oriented with purple stones. Sherlock felt a cold, dread down his spine when he saw who was sitting behind the desk. Mycroft. And the big brother was getting bigger. And bigger.

Giant Mycroft smiled and Sherlock had never felt so small before in his life. The toddler thought about running but his feet wouldn't budge, even when Mycroft's huge finger patted him on the head. Sherlock's hair was smushed underneath it.

"Hello, baby brother."

Sherlock was too frightened to tell this Mycroft that he wasn't a baby. Mycroft chuckled and the sound waves send Sherlock's entire body vibrations.

"I see you've learned how small you are. That's good. Why don't I give you your bottle? You look a little thirsty."

The insult (or was Mycroft being serious?) stirred Sherlock enough to take a stand.

"I'm not a baby."

Instead of laughing like last time, Mycroft seemed genuinely impressed. He pursed his giant lips in thought. Sherlock stared up at him. He didn't think Mycroft would hurt him deliberately but he was afraid Mycroft might accidentally pet him too hard and squish him.

Mycroft leaned his head in a little bit closer to Sherlock. Sherlock almost took a step back as those big eyes coming closer to him.

"Do you want to prove that? Do you want to prove that you're not a baby?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered without hesitation.

Mycroft nodded in understanding. Sherlock was grateful that Mycroft was speaking so softly. If Mycroft yelled or even spoke in his normal voice, Sherlock would think it would be too loud for his ears to take.

"Alright. Then how about you solve the case of this house? Can you solve it by 3:00? If you can, then I will consider you a grown-up just like me. But if you should fail, you have to wear diapers. Do we have a deal?"

Despite knowing the scary risk, Sherlock needed his brother's respect. And he would get it once and for all. He knew that he could solve this case. After all, he was the greatest detective in the world.

"Alright. I'll do it."

Mycroft disappeared. The room dissolved into nothingness and a second later Sherlock was back in the magical kitchen. This time his and John's mums were there. But they looked different. John's mummy had a pink fluffy dress that looked like frosting. She had a cherry on top of her head. Sherlock's mummy had a dress that had embroidery on it. The embroidery reminded Sherlock of the decorations on his mum's teacups. She wore a hat the color of Sherlock's favorite earl grey tea.

The two women smiled sincerely at Sherlock. Sherlock's mum bent over to look at her son.

"Hello Sherlock. Did you have a nice time with John? Are you hungry? Let's have some tea and cake."

Tea and cake sounded very good. But Sherlock had a job to do. He shook his head.

"I'm busy, mummy."

Her smile didn't falter but she waved her finger at him with a 'tut tut' sound.

"You need to eat something, Sherlock. And tea is good for you. Come with me and have a bite."

She took hold of his arm and Sherlock was too weak to struggle. She lead him to a table with a mountain (literally a mountain) of cakes and teacups. Sherlock looked up as far as he could see but the mountain of food was too tall for him to see the very top.

"You don't leave until you eat every bite. Okay Sherlock?"

"That's right," John's mum chimed in, "We've worked real hard making these and we want you to eat and drink it all. We don't want you going hungry."

Sherlock was placed on his booster seat and when he tried to get out, found that he was glued to it. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't leave the chair. His mummy smiled down at him and placed a teacup and a plate of German chocolate cake in front of him.

"Go ahead, dear. Go ahead and eat. After you finish all this food and tea, then you may leave."

Sherlock gulped. There was no way he could do this. He looked up at the clock on the wall: 1:00. He either had to eat fast or find a way out of this.

He was too afraid to waste time thinking of a plan if there was really no other way. He began eating. The minute he finished one plate and tea, another set appeared in front of him. He ate and drank as fast as he could, all the while with the mothers watching him. The smiled approvingly.

His stomach was really starting to hurt.

It was at this point he was having second thoughts. Maybe he _should _spend the time thinking of a way out. But how in the world was he going to-

And then an idea hit him. He was halfway finished with a strawberry shortcake when he turned to his mother.

"Mummy?"

"Yes, darling?"

"You look like tea," Sherlock prayed this plan would work.

She smiled at him, "Thank you, dear."

Sherlock looked at John's mum.

"You look like cake."

"Why, thank you."

Time to go in for the kill. Sherlock fiddled with his fork, playing the part calmly.

"But you guys aren't really tea and cake, are you?"

Now Sherlock's mum did frown and so did John's mum. They looked at each other, then back at the toddler who feigned disappointment.

"No, dear. We simply look like tea and cake. But that's pretty impressive, isn't it?"

"I guess," Sherlock murmured, "But wouldn't it be really neat if you can be real tea and cake? You'd be the best mummies ever. And I can tell everyone how neat my mum is. And John can tell everyone how neat his mum is. Can't you turn into cake and tea?"

His own mother averted her gaze to the floor, clearly thinking. John's mum stared at her, wondering what she was going to decide on doing. Sherlock's mum held up a finger.

"But if we do that, we wouldn't be able to take care of you. And you need adult supervision."

Sherlock pointed to the ceiling.

"Mycroft's upstairs. And he's an adult."

When his mother still didn't look convinced, Sherlock pressed on.

"Don't you want to prove you're a good mum? If you can turn yourself into food, you'll be the best mum ever. John's mum too. Just be tea and cake for a little while. Please?"

"He did say please," John's mum told his mum.

His mum nodded her head.

"Right. Okay Sherlock. We will be real cake and tea for a while. Just remember to be good for Mycroft, okay? And don't you two fight."

"Yes, mummy."

The two women suddenly stood on top of the table. They sat down and then their whole bodies turned as if they were in a twister. A few seconds later, a giant cup of earl grey tea and a plate of cake were in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock stood up, thrilled that he could get out of the booster seat without any trouble. He hopped off the chair. But once he did, his stomach ached. He clutched at his stomach and groaned. He ate way too much.

John. He had to find John. He couldn't do this alone. He looked at the watch and gasped. 2:30. There was no time to lose. Sherlock darted out of the kitchen. Where could John possibly be? And what was the mystery to the house?

Sherlock looked into every room he could think of. As each second past, his stomach hurt more and more. The pain quickly became so unbearable that Sherlock couldn't move. The toddler held his stomach and tipped over on his back, staring up into the ceiling. He heard an ambulance coming closer. He felt his body being lifted up and taken somewhere.

It looked like a hospital, if hospitals had floating candles with glowing droplets of water (no fire) on the wick. Sherlock heard a river outside and the sound of people laughing.

"Sherlock?"

The toddler found himself lying on a patient's bed, looking at his best friend. John frowned in concern. Sherlock kept a firm hold on his stomach the entire time. John took out a stick and held it to Sherlock's mouth.

"Say ah."

"Ah."

When Sherlock opened his mouth, John stuck his hand down his throat and pulled out some cake and teacups that were in perfect condition. After that Sherlock's tummy felt all better. He smiled gratefully at John.

"Thank you."

John smiled back.

"You're welcome."

"John, I need your help," Sherlock told him suddenly, "I need to solve the case of this house before 3:00."

John tilted his head.

"Why?"

"I need to show Mycroft I'm grown-up."

"Oh, okay. I'll help. But how are we going to solve it?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. They needed to gather evidence and fast. But what if it was already too late? Maybe if they were really fast, they could find a way.

He hopped out of the bed and grabbed a magnifying glass seemingly from nowhere. John followed the detective as Sherlock examined the floor carefully. Footprints were leading somewhere. He had a good feeling about this.

The two boys followed the footsteps through the hospital, pass the volcano and around the giant gingerbread house. Finally, they reached a room with flying monkeys. Sherlock couldn't find what had made the footprints. He took a moment to think. There must be something he was missing. His brain went through all the possibilities. John watched the monkeys and laughed.

"They're flying."

That one simple comment was an eye opener for Sherlock. Wasn't there always something flying or floating in every room?

"I figured it out, John. I know the secret."

John looked at him expectedly, his big eyes wide with awe.

"What is it?"

Sherlock tilted his head down on the floor and paced around the room. He liked doing this when he was thinking critically.

"Flight is the clue. What do houses and flying have in common, John?"

"I don't know."

Sherlock beamed at him. He opened his mouth to reveal his genius when the chiming of a clock erupted through the walls. It was 3:00.

Sherlock found himself back in Mycroft's room. He was grateful to see that John came with him. They stared at the giant elder Holmes.

"Well, time's up," Mycroft said.

"No! I figured it out already."

Mycroft waved his finger disapprovingly.

"You're too late, Sherlock. You need to learn when to admit defeat. But don't take it too hard. I'm sure you'll grow out of your diapers in a few hundred years."

"Be fair," John told Mycroft, "He figured it out just before the clocks went off. You should at least let him tell you the answer he came up with."

Mycroft pressed his hands together in thought. He looked at Sherlock. The younger Holmes just needed this one chance.

"Alright. Tell me your answer, Sherlock. If you're wrong, you're a baby forever. If ypu're right, then you're an adult like me. Do you understand?"

Sherlock nodded eagerly.

"Yes! I'll tell you."

"Well, I'm waiting."

Sherlock held up a finger, proud of his accomplishment.

"What do flying and houses have in common? That's the question of the house."

Mycroft shifted in his seat. He looked nervous.

"And the answer?"

"Birds can have both. Birdhouse. The answer is birdhouse. This building is really a birdhouse."

Sherlock was shocked to see John suddenly getting smaller. No wait, he wasn't getting smaller.

Sherlock was getting bigger!

He was so tall, just as tall as giant Mycroft. The elder Holmes shook Sherlock's hand.

"Great job. You've solved it. Now you're an adult."

"Good job, Sherlock," John congratulated.

Sherlock smiled at both of them. He did it. He was an adult. John started to walk out of the room, causing Sherlock to frown.

"Where are you going, John?"

"I'm going to play some more," John turned back to him.

"Can I play with you?" Sherlock asked, hurt that he had been excluded.

"Now Sherlock. Adults don't play," Mycroft told him, "You're too old for that."

"That's right," John chimed in, "I'll see you later, Sherlock. I'm going to play doctor."

Sherlock watched John go. Mycroft smiled at him. Suddenly Sherlock didn't think being an adult was all it was cracked up to be. Not if he couldn't play with John.

He tried to follow John out the door but he was too big to fit through. He stared at the small door helplessly. This was really it. He wasn't a kid anymore. He turned back to Mycroft.

"Well what do we do?" he asked his older brother.

"Adult things. We can do paperwork. Paperwork is fun. Or we can talk about boring things like politics. I, for one think our prime minister is too conservative."

Oh no. Politics? Sherlock didn't want to talk about politics. He wanted to play with John! Tears started welling up in his eyes. Mycroft frowned.

"Don't cry. Adults don't cry."

"I don't want to be an adult!" Sherlock screamed, "I don't! I don't! I don't!"

"Idon'tIdon'tIdon't," Sherlock realized that he was whispering this.

He opened his eyes. There was no giant Mycroft. There were no floating clocks. Instead, he was back on the couch that had turned into a bug before. John was lying down next to him, sound asleep.

Sherlock yawned. He suddenly felt refreshed. And best of all, he wasn't really an adult. He never thought he would feel grateful for that.

Sherlock's mother came into view. She smiled when she saw Sherlock rubbing his eyes.

"You two slept for a long time. Do you want a cookie?"

"What about dinner?" Sherlock's voice was hoarse from sleeping so long.

"I think we can make an exception. You two could really use something sweet from all that playing. After dinner we can have cake and tea."

Sherlock woke up John. The blond haired boy looked around, as if he wasn't sure what was going on.

"We're going to have a cookie, John."

"We are? Great!" John smiled.

When they went into the kitchen, they found all kinds of baked goods. Cakes, cookies, tarts and danishes everywhere. It was amazing. There were all different kinds of cookies. Sherlock chose a sugar cookie and John had chocolate.

Mycroft came in, munching on a cookie of his own. He looked at Sherlock.

"Sherlock. I'm sorry about how I acted earlier. You're right. You're not a kid anymore," he sounded so sincere.

Sherlock noticed their mums smiling at the two. The young detective took another bite of his cookie, chewed thoroughly, then swallowed.

"Actually, I've thought about it. I like being a kid."

John stared at him in shock.

"But you wanted to prove that you're a grown-up."

Mycroft was stunned too.

"Wow. That's really mature of you to admit, Sherlock."

"Alright, you three. Time for dinner," said Sherlock's mother.

After dinner and dessert, Sherlock played doctor with John. It was a lot more fun than Sherlock thought it was going to be. Sherlock even let Mycroft play a little bit. Mycroft was a patient while Sherlock was the doctor's assistant.

Sherlock was happy to be a kid. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Mycroft was still a kid too. It was a wonderfully, liberating thought.


End file.
